If Ned wished to avoid explanations regarding the recovery of his money he could have had no better time to make his announcement than at the breakfast-table that morning, for everyone was far too interested in the event of the afternoon to do more than express congratulations. Brooks had instructed the players to spend the morning in whatever way was customary, but not to tire themselves. Molly was on hand soon after breakfast. The silk flag was finished to the last stitch and looked very well even if, as Spud insisted, the W was woozy. “We shall be very proud to have that, Molly,” said Sandy, “but there’s something else I think we ought to have as a reward for winning—if we do win.”
“Something else? What?” asked Molly.
[367]
“That pillow-case!”
“You shall! If House wins I’ll give it back. Now, isn’t that generous of me, Sandy? For after I give that up I’ll have no hold over any of you any longer and you’ll all treat me just shamefully.”
“You try us,” said Hoop.
“Besides, Molly,” remarked Spud, “’tis better to rule by love than through fear.”
“Oh, listen to that!” jeered The Fungus. “Sounds like the top line in a copy-book. What’s the matter with ‘Honesty is the best policy,’ Spud?”
“There’s a better one yet,” Spud reminded him gravely. “‘Silence is golden,’ Fungus.”
“What are we going to do this morning?” asked Hoop moodily.
“Let’s go for chestnuts,” said Molly. “Don’t you like them? I know where there are lots and lots, bushels and bushels! And we’ll have them boiled.”
“They’ll do for our club luncheon tomorrow,” suggested Dutch. “Where are they, Molly?”
“Never mind. You come with me and I’ll show you.”
“Not far, I hope,” said Spud. “I mustn’t[368] get tired. I’ve got to run the length of the field this afternoon for a touchdown.”
“Gee, you’d have to run about ten miles before you’d ever make a touchdown,” said The Fungus unpleasantly.
“Is that so?” asked Spud. “The rest of you can hunt chestnuts if you like; I’m going to hunt toadstools!”
Whereupon he made for The Fungus. But the latter was not caught so easily and they had it around the house several times before The Fungus was finally driven to bay. Spud was valor itself as long as The Fungus fled before him, but when the adversary put his back to the house and invited closer acquaintance Spud held off and viewed him dubiously.
“Huh,” he said finally, “you’re too hideous to touch!”
They followed Molly to the woods and found that she had not exaggerated so greatly after all. The nuts were plentiful enough and the frosts had started the burs opening. Of course most everyone had trouble with the stickers and Dutch actually sat down on a bur with uncomfortable results. But they had a good time and returned at half-past ten with nearly two quarts of nuts. After that they sat on the[369] porch, in the sun for a while and ate as many as they wanted. Then Molly took charge of the rest and agreed to have them boiled for the morrow’s meeting of the Pippin Club.
Dinner was early today, at twelve o’clock, in order that the players might have time to get over its effects before the game started at two. But no one ate much, Cal especially being extremely chary of food. He was much too anxious and excited to eat. At one the fellows left West House and went through the park toward the gymnasium. They were all rather silent, even Spud for once finding little to say. Clara alone was absent as he had agreed to wait and conduct Molly and Mrs. Linn to the field.
“Well,” said Ned once on the way over, “when we come back we’ll either be feeling a lot better or a lot worse.”
And Sandy, who grew more pessimistic and hopeless as the crucial hour drew nigh, answered:
“We’ll feel a heap worse, I guess!”
The final game drew many friends of the school to Oak Park that day and the seating accommodations were quite inadequate. Long[370] before two o’clock the gridiron was edged with spectators. On the Hall side, reposing on a little table, lay the Silver Shield, the trophy for the possession of which some forty-odd boys had toiled and moiled day after day for nearly two months. The sun shone brightly and there was almost no breeze when the two teams faced each other for the kick-off, but there was a sharp wintery nip in the air that made the watchers along the lines turn up coat-collars and stamp about. The whistle piped and the final game began.
I’m not going to tell you of that first half in detail for more reasons than one. In the first place nothing happened. In the second place it was poorly played. Both teams, House and Hall alike, were too eager. They missed all sorts of opportunities, fumbled, played off-side, held in the line and proceeded in the most futile, headless manner imaginable. It seemed as though House was politely doing its best to hand the game to Hall, while Hall, determined not to be outdone in courtesy, was resolved to present the contest to its adversary. All during that half Cal sat on the side of the field, wrapped in a gray woollen blanket with vivid red borders, and groaned in spirit as he[371] watched the teams tramp back and forth between their respective thirty yard-lines. For neither eleven had the remotest chance to score. When the thirty minutes was up Cal joined the others and trotted to the gymnasium.
Fifteen minutes later he was back in his blanket, the teams had changed goals, the air was colder and the shadows longer and it was now or never. A ray of sunlight, dodging past Doctor Webster’s shoulder, burned ruddily on the Silver Shield. Perhaps it was meant as an omen.
Cal wondered if Brooks would let him on. He had been wondering that for days and days. Now there was only a half-hour left and his chance seemed wofully slim. Both Dutch and Griffin were as strong as ever. Five minutes passed. Hall had the ball on House’s forty-two yards. Two plays with no gain, an attempted forward pass and House had it. A slow advance to Hall’s forty-eight yards and again the pigskin changed hands. Hall kicked on the second down and M’Crae ran the ball back fifteen yards before he was thrown. An end run by Ned gained four yards and Boyle slammed through center for three more.[372] M’Crae kicked. Ten minutes had gone. Cal’s heart grew leaden. Time was called and Brooks turned toward the little group of substitutes.
“Hooper!” he called.
Hoop jumped up and threw aside his blanket. Cal helped him peel off his sweater, envy in full possession of him. Sandy, white and weary, crept up and wrapped himself up.
“We’re playing simply rotten,” he groaned. “We ought to have them licked by now.”
Fasset, of Hall, got away for a long run around Spud’s end that took the ball to House’s twenty-eight yards and Hall shouted its joy. Two tries at the left wing netted but six yards and Grow fell back as though for a placement. McDonald knelt to place the ball for him. But when the ball came he jumped up and raced along the line, seeking an opening. The trick failed, for the quarter was thrown for no gain, and on the second play M’Crae kicked out of danger. The half was fifteen minutes old. Then came another pause and Turner went in for A. Westlake at center and the Hall made two changes. Cal, watching Dutch and Griffin as a cat watches a mouse, thought that the latter was at last showing[373] signs of wear. Back up the field toiled Hall, trying desperate things now; runs around end from trick formations, forward passes that seldom worked, charges at the line from strange angles. It was after one of these that Cal saw Griffin being lifted to his feet. Cal’s heart leaped into his throat and throbbed there uncomfortably until Brooks turned and held up his hand and called.
What was he saying? Cal strove to hear, but his heart was making too much noise. It was Sandy who prodded him.
“Go on in, you duffer! Brooks wants you!”
A minute later Cal was looking into the pale, perspiring face of Dixon. At last he was in! The first few minutes passed as though in a dream. Cal did mechanically what he had been taught to do. Once someone thumped him heavily on the back and a voice screeched:
“Lower, Boland! Get down there!”
Then it was House’s ball again. The signals came, Cal leaped into his opponent and Ned went twisting through with a rasping of canvas and the panting of many breaths. Cal went down with someone on his head. A hand reached and yanked him to his feet.
[374]
“Second down!” called the referee. “Seven to go.”
“Kick formation!” called M&rsqu............